Hypochondriac Chapters 7-9

“What do you think?” She twirled around to showcase the full effect of the train. Sitting in the audience were her stepdad, Mara, and her grandparents (on her father’s side).

“I’m not sold on it, to be honest.” Ellie whipped around from her position at the mirror to look at the grave face of her stepfather. He sat with his hands folded in his lap: a display of some real interest, unlike the sweaty, plastered-on smiles worn by her family and friends. Mara was smiling without looking. Her features were taut as she fixated on the carpet beneath her feet.

“Okay, but why?” Ellie huffed, though she wasn’t really upset. She felt the same way about the dress actually. The collar irritated the nape of her neck and lace detailing on the sleeves reminded her of her mother’s half-assed embroidery projects.

“Well, you aren’t beaming in it. That’s a sure sign of a problem,” her stepdad said cooly. She fingered the satin buttons that kissed her shoulder blades together. The movement deepened stress grooves on her forehead, morphing her naturally dewy skin into something of a caricature.

“Okay, but have you seen the price tag? You can’t get a deal much better than that.” Ellie studied the reaction of her small crowd. After a lull, Mara raised her eyes up to Ellie. “Shit, you could get married in a paper sack and I’d just be so damn happy for you.” Her eyes shone like silver bearings though there was a tinge of sadness to her words.

Ellie snorted involuntarily. Her grandparents were a little old-fashioned when it came to swearing, even still melancholy Mara had to hold up her reputation. Her foul-mouthed garnered little reaction though: Luann seemed far too occupied with her granddaughter’s beautiful figure, grinning full-on with her teeth (which was not something she did often), while Grandpa West nodded steadily, motioning for her to turn around once more in the flowing garment.

She did. “Lovely, it truly is,” he murmured, bemused. Ellie’s stepfather gave her a knowing look that said If you like it, I like it.

“I think I’m going to take it off.” Mara slumped back down in her chair. Her stepfather raised his eyebrows. West clasped his wife’s arm, exhaling deeply.

Ellie raised her eyes towards the clock. “Mom won’t be coming, will she? Neither will dad?” She turned back towards the mirror, scrutinizing her upturned nose— courtesy of her mother —with an odd mixture of revulsion and composure.

Papa Pat was Ellie’s real father and mother in more ways than one. “Everyone is here that matters, El-Bell.” He says, eyes softening. Ellie looks at herself, the state of her eyeliner, and back at her stepfather. Tears press invisible thumbs into the corners of her eyes. She willed away thoughts that desperately wanted to shatter her psyche.

“Alright, the dress is coming off,”she said simply. Her legs gave a little as she stepped off the podium.

She wondered for a brief moment whether inviting the fourth-graders would have been an absolute trip or an absolute disaster. Or whether the parents would be aghast that she could ask such a thing of her students. “Brilliant, darling!” Kacie’s eyes would go all wide before she elapsed into a fit of giggles. After her mom had married an English man, she insisted on talking with “great delicacy and poise”, a phrase her mother and Kent had taught her. “Would the bride care to join me for some afternoon tea and crumpets?”

Or Davey, sweet little Davey. He would probably do something with his eyes that looked a lot like ogling but was really a form of quiet admiration. “Wow wow wow! Amazeballs!” she saw him whispering through spread fingers, still grubby with the remnants of afternoon lunch.

But the kids weren’t there, nor were their parents, nor were her parents. She had to stick to her guns and continue with the everlasting hunt. She hadn’t heard a resounding yes from her family, nor had she felt any mystical pull towards the milk-and-honey cloth that bunched up strangely near her back and midsection.

Ellie shut the door on the dressing room and tugged at her satin buttons with impatience. Another tear funneled down her cheek, which she promptly bat away before slipping the dress off her unsteady body. She thought of Mark and how he would be waiting for her with an oblivious grin and a portion of reheated potatoes at home.

Noah 

El Camino unfolded in front of Noah like a rudimentary cootie catcher. He knew exactly where he needed to go, but so much had changed within the last fourteen years— including all the shops he was accustomed to. He scanned the intersection, looking for the familiar grand arch that separated Sequoia high school from the rest of the residential district. The signage had been completely redone: modern, angular, and more dignified, painted in an eye-catching yellow rather than that dreadful color of bulldozed bricks.

A familiar sadness swept over him. A new generation had taken root, all supplied with new smartphones that glinted in the hazy California sunshine. They took no notice of him even as he rolled down his window to get a better look. He followed the odd median that looped around the demolished movie theater and followed Brewster avenue.

He perused around the neighborhood until a Shell station came into view. Noah thought he had seen the last of them, along with Blockbuster and Radio Shack stores: remnants of his childhood circled around Tamagotchi and Yu Gi Oh cards. It was there that he put his car into park and began filling up his gas.

“Noah? I didn’t expect to see a familiar face.” He looks up to see a man approaching with clear sunglass frames and hair sprouting up in unkempt patches. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking Noah’s car up and down. “Well this is a hunk of junk you got. I expected better from a varsity player with those famous high grades of yours.” He laughed heartily.

“Parker! What the hell are you doing here?” Noah said, grinning wide. Noah was stunned that his old college friend still looked like, well, himself. Same head adorned by steadily disappearing crabgrass, same restless eyes always scoping out the next big adventure. They entered into a brief hug, with Noah detaching himself to do the once-over.

“You look good as hell man. Except that little chest protrusion you got going there.” He pointed to Parker’s stomach, evidently just as unkempt as the hair. Parker tried on a mask of surprise before launching into another belch-filled laugh.

“Good to see you, too.”

Noah sauntered over to the gas pump, half-expecting Parker to follow. “What’s new, man?” Parker stood nearby thumbing his corduroys. He watched as an african-american man no older than 25 entered the gas station with his head lowered. It was a pity, he thought, that they had to time their movements so perfectly to avoid the eyes of the law.

“Oh, well. There’s not a whole lot to share. I got a serious girlfriend now for the first time in ages,” he motions to his belted waist, “Despite this...situation.”

Noah’s mouth twitched imperceptibly. Parker had found a way to settle down? The former fraternity brother who still couldn’t fill out a W-9? It didn’t matter too much to Noah that his longtime friend had finally gotten a grip on his life. But before him? It felt almost… Inappropriate.

Instead of doing what he ought, Noah slapped Parker on the back, his smile restraining a comical urge.

“God, I was hoping it would happen to one of us. What’s she like?”

“Chelsea is fucking great, man. Killer tits. Smile capable of reviving my cold, dead heart. And the best sense of ironic humor. You’ll meet her some time. Where you staying, by the way?” Noah pointed south. “I’ve got a hotel in San Francisco. Spending for one night in that dump almost broke my wallet.”

“Whatcha in town for? I thought you were still in and around the Big Apple.” Ellie’s golden hair flashed in his mind. “I’m actually a photographer for a wedding. It’s a girl I knew from high-school.”

Parker perked up at the word girl. He laughed again, which came out more like haw haw haw between snorts. “Using your artsy fartsiness to break up a wedding, I see? Very smart. Is she a hot broad?” He continued on despite the change in Noah’s face, “Got a picture somewhere?”

Parker isn’t right, but he isn’t exactly wrong either. “You know, I gotta keep my phone charged. Still got quite a bit of driving to do for the destination.”

“Alright man, well hey! It’s good to see you alive and well, not having to scrape your ass out of a gutter on fraternity row.” Parker jabbed Noah in the stomach as he collected his credit card from the machine. “Next time, let’s do a barbecue.”

“Count me i—” is all Noah had a chance to get out before Parker was fully out of sight.

Noah wound up northside San Francisco with his left arm out the window. He was hoping for a breath of fresh air, but all he got was the smell of stale piss and raw bread. The faint pulsing of Naked Eyes “Promises Promises” whispered sweet nothings into his ear as he passed Bernal Heights Park at a slow crawl. The landmarks came in and out of focus for him like a distant dream. At the intersection of Mission and Van Ness, he watched a homeless brigade do their solemn march, smelling of raw sewage and fry sauce. Others cowered along the backstreets, repenting with soggy cardboard and their sinewy dog companions.

A wistfulness passed over him. How stupid was that, watching slack-jawed, middle-aged men and their bleached up, soccer-mom wives bumble underneath a canopy to buy a set of stupid-looking “I heart San Francisco” shirts, while brown boys with hardly a pair of shoes to their name scrounged for cash? And yet, nothing would change. In the next fifteen or so years, he would be one of those entitled twats.

Up Van Ness, he saw old music venues like the Regency Ballroom and their after-party dance clubs. He recalled an old-victorian building where he thought his mom used to take him for Ju-Jitsu practice. Within moments the Holiday Inn rolled up into view. It seemed rather nondescript, a sack-brown building tucked underneath a series of ornately paneled bay windows. And there was no observable parking. Lovely.

Noah settled into his final destination at a quarter to 10, a hand in his waistband pocket. He knew the chasm in his wallet had been increasing ever since he left Salt Lake City, and part of him wondered if it would be much smarter to have taken a plane instead. No matter. You can’t put a price on feelings, anyway, and this joy ride had taken him back to places he wasn’t sure still existed.

The wedding was fast approaching, now. He laid out his Canon on the bed and fiddled absently with the tripod as the TV droned on about “world-class” massages that he was in desperate need of. But it didn’t matter how he was feeling. It only mattered whether the beauty walked down that aisle with poise while light hands shimmied down her train, keeping everything in place for the big day.

He thought of how Lee would have been begging him to come along. He imagined the chubby four-year-old expelling a half-ton of air out of his cheeks: “Wow! Wow! Is she a real-life princess?” as he bounced around in one of the plastic folding chairs. No matter, no matter. Ideas like those would only serve to make mother feel bad.

Ellie

The plan was to take a day trip to Angel Island. Ellie sat back in her foldout chair with an eye towards the horizon, or rather, the what-ifs she abandoned at the dock. What if, for instance, Mark knew that she had once been dying to be a celebrity chef? What if her friends from the amateur filmmakers’ club called once in awhile? But perhaps the most pressing question of all— what if she chose not to return to the Bay? She had fond memories of her fourteen-year-old self with feather hair extensions and denim overalls, waiting for Pat to come back with ripe watermelon. She could practically feel the wispy paper fringes of the birthday pinata that she groped for blindfolded, Pat steadying her backside as she stumbled on woodchips beneath her.

Except Pat wouldn’t be joining their entourage— no, not today. Today was reserved for Ellie, Mara, and Mara’s mother. It was Raleigh Ann, not Mara, who suggested a spa day and shopping if nothing else came to mind. That morning, Mara had sat herself on one of Ellie’s barstools, touching up her coffee.

“I’m thinking more like a nature hike,” Ellie offered, divvying up the omelets. A somber glow rose from a Thanksgiving Yankee candle sitting on her coffee table in the den. Ellie had so many Yankee candles present you would think she lived alone.

“It’s your day hun. Anything you want to do.” Raleigh’s lilt transferred all the stress to her forehead.

They left the port around 11am. Ellie had kicked on a pair of her most beat-up sneakers and together they filed into the yacht charter. Mara opted for the little reflective window by the captain’s quarters to take a stab at her liquid liner. Raleigh, perturbed by the selfishness of her daughter, joined Ellie by the pulpit. “Can I see a picture of the dress?” She asked, cheeks all flush, wrought with an intensity Ellie couldn’t quite identify.

“Here it is, in all its glory.” Ellie said absently, swiping with her index finger. A shoddy mirror selfie appeared on her phone screen. In the photo, she was looking over her shoulder as if to judge the quality of the dress’s open back. She didn’t look particularly sad or happy. To Ellie’s surprise, Raleigh smiled wide enough for her wrinkles to give off a ripple effect.

“It’s beautiful. Very nice.” She studied the acid green water that frothed and gathered into a serpentine around the boat’s rudder. The smile disappeared and she said, “You know, I would do anything to give my Mara away again. She’s much quieter now. I’m not sure what Shawn did with my daughter, exactly.” Webs of stress concentrated underneath Raleigh’s eyes like pale constellations.

Ellie thought of Mark again. She couldn’t help it, really. It was as if all the trustworthy adult figures in the world had gathered together in secret conference, conspiring to make Ellie doubt her own union. But Mark is sensitive and kind, Ellie assured herself. Unlike Mara’s idiot husband. Unlike anyone I’ve ever known. Yet it seemed that regret was a common thread among the young and hopeful: the lustful, ignorant betrothed.

Ellie pressed a palm into her left cheek, turning away from Raleigh Ann. Surely the mother of an only child would understand her need to create some distance. Girl time was overrated, anyway. In twenty minutes or less, Mara would approach Ellie with a bellini or a mojito in exchange for one Instagram picture complete with a clever caption. What a shallow world she lived in. Such was adulthood… Trading high-school trivialities for workplace ones, trading deadbeat football-player boyfriends for deadbeat football-fan husbands.

Ellie could have gone for some booze, actually. Anything to forget the fact that she would rather Pat be there than anyone else, that she would pass on the erotic male dancers if it meant being suspended on the inlet for a few more precious moments.

They stepped off onto a dirt clod higher than the picnic tables, the smell of charcoal and cooked meat wafting from every nameable direction. It was just how she remembered it: a semi-private plot of land embedded with landmark trees and floating embers. It was beautiful beyond comprehension.

Ellie was relieved, in fact, to find that Mara was employing herself: she toted the picnic table begrudgingly while Raleigh Ann followed closely behind with two camping chairs. “I love you, but I’m also really hoping for some salt-and-vinegar chips as a reward.” She stammered between sucking in enormous breaths.

This glimpse of the old Mara was enough for Ellie to turn around and help her friend. She grabbed the portion of the table that was dipping the lowest and charged ahead, laughing quietly as she went. The sun emptied onto her shoulders. She imagined her left shoelace needed tying. Then the laughter died almost as soon as it begun, and after close examination of their conjoined shadows, the realization smacked Ellie in full force: she only had these two stragglers, a single mother and daughter, to call her own.

The fault was undoubtedly Ellie’s: partly paranoia-induced, partly a leading consequence of several prior incidents that led to her shaving most of her hair in a wide-eyed frenzy. Not even Mark knew this one.

Noah

He wondered whether she had gotten herself into a drunken stupor last night. Maybe she did a line of coke off the abs of bisexual men, her half-naked body lit solely by the drowsy gloom of a lounge bar. In the weakest of his predictions, he saw her with her hands folded in her lap, humming bible tunes along with friends and close family.

It didn’t matter, though. Of course not. He redundantly straightened the lapels of his suit and took his chances with the mirror. For a man with dignified underpinnings in his surname, he appeared to be rather average-looking.

No matter, no matter. Today was the day whether he liked it or not. He produced a Listerine tab from his breast pocket and popped one underneath his tongue. The Canon sat on the edge of his bed, lens cap astray. Empty diet coke cans made a beeline across the dresser beneath the flatscreen T.V. Whenever Noah clutched a pen between his teeth in frustration, he stood up to rearrange each coke can by a tenth of an inch: it diffused him, somehow.

Noah scarfed down some cold eggs and pocketed a granola bar before shuffling out the door. He wouldn’t miss the single room by any means, not when he had better places to be. Golden Gate Park awaited him; he had no other plans other than to watch a beautiful girl from his past get married to some schlub with cross-eyes and a goofy haircut.

“Adieu,” Noah said curtly within the elevator’s confines.